


The Direct Route

by lirulin



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Crack, Gen, Generic Inquisitor - Freeform, Kink Meme, genfic, minifill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-01
Updated: 2015-05-01
Packaged: 2020-08-13 07:37:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20170588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lirulin/pseuds/lirulin
Summary: The Inquisitor has an interesting - and rather trying - method of traveling.





	The Direct Route

**Author's Note:**

> A fill from the Kinkmeme that I never archived (http://dragonage-kink.livejournal.com/14317.html?thread=54540013#t54540013).
> 
> Original Prompt:  
"Sometimes I just wonder what my party members think of my "fuck it, we're going over it" philosophy to exploration."

When they'd first gone traveling with the Herald, there were concerns about whether they would be up to the task of traversing the Hinterlands. The mark had weakened them and, even without the toll that magical scar laid on their shoulders, they weren't a particularly...striking figure. Cullen had been concerned that they would pass out at the first crossroads, Leliana had taken care to instruct her agents to keep tabs on the Herald's party, Cassandra had even gone out of her way to find the least taxing roads and passes and had plotted them on the map with painstaking precision. 

Their concerns about the Herald's heartiness were, unfortunately, staggeringly off base.

When they parted with Corporal Vale and set out, Cassandra had lamented the route they would have to take. It had been an idle comment, just something said in passing as they made polite conversation, but the Herald had taken an interest. Their path was indulgent, it wound through the hills and valleys of the Hinterlands in a lazy and time-consuming way. She'd shown the Herald the map, and insisted that she'd planned accordingly to allow for the time their route would require, but the Herald had simply stopped and carefully studied the map.

"I think we can find a more direct path, assuming nobody objects to a little hiking?"

At the time, that question hadn't seemed especially ominous. 

How naive they had been, and how long ago that seemed.

"I miss _roads_," Varric wheezed as he shuffled along the impossibly narrow ledge. He hugged the stone like he'd been raised in Orzamar and, across the yawning distance between this peak at the other wall of the narrow valley, a couple of rams watched him. He glowered at them and, insofar as rams were able, they looked worried.

"I would settle for level ground, personally," Solas added in a breathy voice. While he sounded less affected than the dwarf, the elf's calm, collected demeanor had been shattered minutes after they started out. He was all but drenched in sweat and peppered with more than a bit of dirt; his feet, despite how he went on about their hardiness, were already red and swollen.

Solas used his staff like a climbing anchor and Varric watched him warily as he jammed the arcane weapon into the dirt ahead and levered himself up, off the ledge. His feet slipped and dug into the gravel-laden slope, dislodging several rocks from the impossibly steep mountainside. They tumbled down into the valley with a noisy, terrifying clatter and Varric almost sobbed with joy as Solas extended a hand and helped him up.

"The mountain air is good for you!" The Herald called from above (almost directly above, in fact) and let out a bright, energetic laugh. 

The Herald took mountains with a single-minded, staggering intensity, as though rocks and gravity could be _willed_ into submission. They'd searched for a path for only a few seconds before they simply resigned themselves and started up the sheer rock--as if it were a normal thing to do, scaling the side of a mountain because a road wasn't immediately apparent. How the Herald found purchase on the stone, on slopes just barely angled enough that they weren't _completely vertical_, no one knew. It took all their effort just to follow, that any of them had found the breath to complain was a testament to how badly they wanted to.

"Surely we didn't have to be _quite so direct,_" Cassandra said between deep, gulping breaths. Despite her heavy armor, she'd done the best at keeping pace with the Herald and had almost clawed her way up the dirt and gravel. Her discipline and strength were tested to their very limits, though, as she tried to match the deft, nearly suicidal certainty of the Herald's steps.

"It's not a problem," the Herald called back and came to a halt at (what they could only assume was) the summit. "The Inquisition really needs that horse-master. This way, we can be there within the day."

There was some small kindness in the world, apparently, because the Herald paused and waited at the summit for the others to gather. The Herald turned their attention to the map and then peered down, from on high, at the land below...so very far below. And, thank the Maker, there was a brief moment of peace. Cassandra reached the top first and the others followed shortly after. The Seeker held herself stock straight, but she was flushed and her placid expression strained. Solas all but sagged against his haggard staff, breathing heavily and shifting uncomfortably on bare feet. Varric didn't bother with pretense and, given the very limited amount of standing room, had decided to flop to the ground. To his credit, sprawling on his back did lessen the likelihood of him being accidentally jostled off the summit (and to his untimely, painful demise).

"Let's see...it's _that way,_" the Herald said after a few minutes of consideration and leveled their arm at the horizon. Nobody was aware enough to say what direction it was. Cassandra nodded automatically; Solas nursed a stitch in his side. Before any of them could speak, the Herald clapped their hands, sucked a deep, satisfied breath and cheerfully said: "Alright, let's go!" 

Cassandra and Solas watched in mute horror as the Herald angled their feet, bent at the knee, and promptly slid down the cliff before them. Both the Seeker and the mage paled, Varric let out a manic, panicked laugh, and the wind whistled around them as they lingered. They were stood on the precipice...that was not a metaphor. In this moment, they had a deep appreciation for how harrowing "standing on the precipice" was supposed to be.

"_You're joking,_" Cassandra objected loudly, disbelief pouring off of her. Below them, descending the rock in a way that was only marginally safer than _plummeting_, the Herald called up at them. Their voice echoed.

"Come on! It's not _that steep!_"


End file.
